Sanguine
by The Demon's Song
Summary: "Sanguine," Harry read, "meaning hopeful or bloody."  He looked again at the letter inviting him to apply to Hogwarts' newly reinstated apprenticeship program.  "That covers all the options, then, doesn't it?"  Rewrite of Dicentra Formosa, SSHP slash.
1. A matter of invitation

**Author's note: This is the rewritten version of one of my previous stories, Dicentra Formosa. Knowledge of that story is in no way necessary to understand this one. Just be aware that while there are original characters, none of them will enter into relationships with canon Harry Potter characters; that this story will, largely, be set in Hogwarts; Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, and likely Fred Weasley have survived the final battle; and, lastly, that this will absolutely be _slash _of the SS/HP variety, even if the slash is slow moving. That's pretty much it. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, and never will be. Consider me disclaimed, as I'm only writing this out once. :P**

Harry had been doing well until the owl arrived.

He had been fighting with Rasiel for what was, at his best guess, two hours—and, though he had not had a pause in which to test his theory, he was fairly certain this was his new record by at least a few minutes. It had certainly been long enough to make any linear sense of the past blur and turn to ash, taking on the same consistency as the sand beneath his feet. One became familiar with sand if one fought in the Dome for long enough; sand beneath the toes, sand breaking falls, sand slipping just so under poised feet to deny balance, sand to kick in the eyes of one's opponent. Harry knew the sand well, had learned it over long months of pouring sweat and blood onto its surface.

The blade in his hand was heavy, after so long. It was a weapon made for lightness, for swift, darting movements—Rasiel had taken one look at his hands and pronounced him unfit for heavier weapons, and though he had violently disagreed then, he could not help but acknowledge her point now. After two hours his hand had become so tense around the grip that even relaxing them brought pain, and having to arch his fingers just so to launch a strike became torturous after an hour, let alone two. Every blow he took sent shocks up his arm, a ringing in his bones that he had learned to ignore. Harry could not say he fought as an expert would, but he was no longer a novice of the worst sort. No novice could last two hours against Rasiel.

So, though the pain and tension had been beginning to catch up with him at the edge of the two hours, Harry had done well despite it. He knew it from the way his movements felt, smooth where exhaustion would once have made them jerky. More than that, he had seen the pride in Rasiel's silver eyes as she matched him blow for blow, and the feral smile she wore only into battles she enjoyed. For that expression, Harry would have fought until he fell; he had done so before, and would have done again.

Then the owl had swooped in through an upper window of the Dome, hooting a greeting as it beat its wings and perched upon one of the rails that circled the Dome, and Harry, who had become unaccustomed to the sounds of owls over the past months, had let his guard drop.

A moment's distraction, and it was all over. His sword was gone from his hand in an instant, though his fingers remained curled in a near parody of his previous grasp, and he did not see where it disappeared to. An instant after that he met the sand, which took the opportunity to insinuate itself under his shirt. Half a moment after that, a blond-haired, silver-eyed woman was poised above him, the very tip of her well-crafted blade just brushing the skin of his neck. "Careless," Harry said, more as an apology then an observation.

Rasiel did not respond to that, though she acknowledged it with a slight nod. "Do you yield?" she asked, her voice flat despite the faint lilt of an accent that the words brought.

He did so, not with words but with a gentle touch of his fingers to the point of Rasiel's sword. This, too, he had learned. His first surrender had cut too deep, spilling enough blood that an unimpressed Rasiel had been forced to bandage the wound. Now he pressed carefully, breaking just enough of his own skin to spill one or two drops of blood. They stained the blade alongside other drops which Rasiel had earned through careful slices and clever feints, and Harry was pleased to see the sword was drier than it had been in previous fights.

Rasiel released him as soon as his surrender was given, and held out a hand to help him to his feet. "That was well enough, Soldier," she said, meeting his eyes as she hoisted him upright without any visible strain—she looked at him with eyes still silver, indecipherable gaze sharp, and Harry knew the simple words to be high praise.

The moment was broken by the sound of echoing claps. Harry turned his eyes towards the sound and found himself looking at the mezzanine of the Dome, a thin row of seats which provided the best view of any events that occurred within. Standing at the edge of the higher floor was a tall, sharp-featured woman with her hair in brown curls. She applauded daintily with hands too large for true grace, and looked down at Harry and Rasiel in unwilling pleasure. "It was a spectacle," she said, and let her hands fall still. "I almost think that one day you two will harm each other."

Rasiel, who had been so cold, so professional a taskmaster, looked up with what Harry could only call a rakish grin. "My dear Elena, it will be decades before the little one becomes so interesting," Rasiel said, dismissively. Harry frowned at his teacher, who was all of a foot smaller than him, and took entirely too much pleasure in utilizing his nickname. He found himself having to look away, though, when a glance was exchanged between Elena and Rasiel. It was not a propositioning look, or even one of great importance, but it was an exchange born of endless familiarity, and that alone made it private enough that Harry would feel rude watching. He took the opportunity to rid himself of as much sand as he could, though he could still feel the grains everywhere even after he was finished, and did not look up again until Rasiel said at last, "Now, how do I call for that bloody bird?"

Harry realized the question was being asked of him, and almost could not answer. "Er," he said articulately, knowing Rasiel would be rolling her eyes, "I think you whistle."

There was silence for a moment. "Well?" Rasiel asked, patronizingly. "Perhaps you ought to get on with it."

It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes, and he did so. He also whistled. As he had expected, the owl took this as a summons, swooping down from the rail to alight on the arm he held out. It did not do so, however, without digging its talons into the flesh of his forearm, hooting at him in what he thought might even be disapproval as it did so. "Hey now," he said coaxingly, not enjoying the sensation, "a smart bird like you has better manners than that." The owl did not relax, merely stared all the harder and rustled its wings. "Who have you upset enough to have them setting owls on you, Rasiel?" he asked of his teacher, though he couldn't see her around the mass of feathers.

Elena's soft laugh came from above. "Plenty of people."

"No one," Rasiel said. Harry knew she had stepped up beside him because she laid a hand on his arm. He took the hint, remaining still as she relieved the bird of the letter it carried; at last, with one final indignant hoot, the owl took flight, leaving through the same window by which it had entered.

Harry waited a moment while Rasiel cast a barrage of spells at the envelope, trying to test himself by identifying them. Blue—to examine the will of the sender. A flash of white to seek out and eliminate any harmful spells. Red, which made sure it could not be tracked. Through the plethora of colors, Harry also watched Rasiel's eyes—now light blue, a sister shade of their previous silver but distinct from it—trying to see if he could discern secrets from her expression.

When the spells stopped, Harry could not stop himself from asking, "Well, who's it from, then?"

"Hmm?" Rasiel said. Harry could tell she had forgotten his presence, and chided himself for reminding her when her next words were, "Run along, little one."

"Rasiel—," he started. Then he stopped, turned on his heel in the sand, and made for the nearest exit. The grains sloshed into his shoes. He told himself he did not resent this particular mood of Rasiel's: the distant, uncaring tone her voice took, as though she owed him neither respect nor friendship. She did not get in that mood often, which was a consolation, though she never apologized for it either. Once or twice, when she had truly insulted him, she would send Elena to talk with Harry in her stead. Harry doubted that would happen now, of course, and the damned sand was still getting _everywhere..._

"Hold, Soldier."

The words were a bark, and Harry obeyed them despite himself, grinding to a halt in mid-stride. He turned, doing his best not to do so petulantly, and took in the surprise in Rasiel's eyes, brought purposefully close to the surface so that he could witness it. "Yes?"

Looking puzzled still, Rasiel waved the sealed envelope in her hand. "The letter seems to be addressed to you."

He returned to her side, this time ignoring the movement of sand beneath his feet. Rasiel gave him the letter with no reluctance, but with a sort of controlled curiosity. Indeed, on the outside of the envelope a single word was written in flowing script: his name. _Harry_. The handwriting of it was so familiar that he could place it at a glance. More important even than that was the seal that held the white paper shut. In red wax, a badger, snake, lion and raven graced an indented crest which had the words _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry _sloping around its side.

Harry made quick work of the envelope, ripping the perfect seal with no real remorse. From inside, two pieces of parchment tumbled. He caught one, the smaller of the two, and let the other fall to the sand. Opening the one in his hand, Harry read more of the neat lettering he knew so well.

_Harry—_it said again:

_I enclosed the other parchment on Headmistress McGonagall's request, since owls I send have always had the best luck at finding you. I hope you've been enjoying your hideaway—though, Harry James Potter, you will owe me an explanation for this when I see you next—but I think we both know that hiding yourself away forever isn't your way. You left after the final battle because you were tired of the press and having nothing to do. Harry, I can't solve the press for you, but I have found something for you to do._

_ I would have sent this along last year, when the program first started, but since it was only really a trial last year I didn't see the point. Now that we have things up and running, I hoped you might consider applying. I've learned so much after only a year, Harry, you wouldn't believe...well, maybe you would. You have always known me best. _

_ So, consider it, please? If only for my sake._

_ Hermione Granger_

"An old friend?" Rasiel asked from over his shoulder.

"The best of them," Harry affirmed, more than used to her complete discarding of any rules of privacy. He bent at the waist and lifted the second, larger parchment. It began as he had expected:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY _

_ Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall_

_ (Order of Merlin, First Class)_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_ It is the pleasure of the Hogwarts staff to reinstate one of the oldest, most respected traditions of our school. We are pleased to inform you that as of this year, the formerly abandoned Apprenticeship system will be taken up once again, after many long years of neglect._

_ Miss Granger has brought it to my attention that you, having been raised outside of the wizarding world, will be unfamiliar with this system. For your sake, then, I will inform you that the schooling at Hogwarts once continued past the seventeenth year of a witch or wizard. While some would still choose to leave and learn a family trade, far greater numbers chose to remain and Apprentice themselves to a Master witch or wizard, advancing their studies until their Master deemed that they could progress no farther; some would even train until they earned Masteries of their own. _

_ The downfall of this tradition was brought about by the rather archaic regulations of the practice, which could, in the hands of an unkind Master, make the Apprentice little more than a slave, never to be released from their Master's service. With conditions so harsh, the system gradually fell out of favor, until it existed solely in isolated pockets, and not in any organized fashion. _

_ In these more modern days, however, the Apprenticeship system has been changed. No longer is there room for a cruel master to abuse his or her charge. Severus Snape of Hogwarts underwent his own Mastery when he was near your age, and emerged unscathed. _(This, in Harry's mind, was rather a matter of opinion.) _Furthermore, Miss Granger herself has been Apprenticed to Master Kennis, an accomplished Spell-Shaper, for a year already, and has come to no harm._

_ The Apprenticeship courses are now being held in Hogwarts castle, in the old Apprentice wings—they had been sealed by magic until the program was restarted last year, and now are open and perfectly habitable. Apprentices may take courses in pursuit of several Masteries (these written below). Applications are to be sent to the individual Masters, and are due by owl by the third of August, three weeks from the day this letter was sent. Term, as always, begins first of September._

_ We hope to see you grace these halls again, Mr. Potter._

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress_

_COURSE LIST:_

_Runes Mastery (Specializations offered: Warding, runes of protection, runes of defense, runes of demolition, foreign runes, history of runes. DAMAGE CONTROL a mandatory class.)_

_Potions Mastery (Specializations offered: Poisons and antidotes, research and development, ingredient analysis, ethics of Potions use and production, etc. NEWTS scores taken into account. DAMAGE CONTROL a mandatory class.)_

_Healing Mastery (Specializations offered: Body magic, potions use and development, experimental treatment, mind magics, observation, anatomy.)_

_Ritual Magic Mastery (Specializations offered: Sacrifice based rituals, blood based rituals, ethics of ritual use. LEGALITY OF RITUAL USE and INTENSIVE STUDY OF FOREIGN LANGUAGE mandatory classes)_

_Spell-Shaping Mastery (Specializations offered: Intent, adaptation of preexisting spells, history of spell creation. INTERMEDIATE ARITHMANCY, INTERMEDIATE RUNES and DAMAGE CONTROL mandatory classes)_

_Stone and Metal Magics Mastery (Specializations offered: Weapons creation, jewelry creation, spell weaving, construction and architecture. OBSERVATION a mandatory class)_

_Herbology Mastery (Specializations offered: Observation, plant study, plants in potions, plants in healing, classification of species, effects and antidotes)_

_Charms Mastery (Specializations offered: Mood manipulation, weather magics, history of charms. DAMAGE CONTROL a mandatory class)_

_Transfiguration Mastery (Specializations offered: Inanimate transfiguration, human transfiguration, animagus transformations, animation, history of transfiguration. DAMAGE CONTROL a mandatory class)_

_Battle Magic Mastery (Specializations offered: Shielding, curses and hexes, basic warding, observation, field healing, physical warfare, dark magic detection, countercurses. DAMAGE CONTROL a mandatory class)_

_Dual Apprenticeships are allowed, but not recommended. _

_We await your owl._

Harry read the letter once. He then closed his eyes, ever so briefly, and opened them again, half expecting the note to have disappeared. Since it was still alarmingly present, he gave in to impulse and read it again. Only the knowledge that Rasiel was watching, and would mock him for doing so, kept him from rereading it a third time. "Huh," he said, cocking his head slightly. He scuffed one foot in the sand, ran his free hand through his hair, and considered.

"Oh, stop making a show of pondering it over, little one," Rasiel said, in the tone of voice that meant she thought he was being unbelievably slow. "I saw the look in your eyes when you read the first letter. You would do almost anything for this—," a pause, and a rustling sound—parchment crinkled as Rasiel lifted it from the sand, "—Hermione of yours, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah," he answered. He felt his eyes raise towards the window through which the owl had exited and stilled them deliberately. "For Hermione alone, I would go."

Rasiel reached up one hand and, gently, grasped his jaw and pulled downwards, forcing his gaze to meet hers. With a smirk quirking her lips and a hint of silver swimming below the surface of her blue eyes, she asked him, "Then that's settled, Soldier, is it not?"

And Harry, sweat dripping down his face, skin scored with cuts and bruises, wiped sand away from his eye and nodded.

**Any of my former Dicentra Formosa readers will note that this chapter is much shorter than the ones you're accustomed to—this is so that I can try and post them faster, with any luck.**

**I hope you enjoyed! If you're in any way confused, feel free to PM me and ask questions. As is always the case, much of what's left unexplained will be made clear not so very long from now.**

**Additionally—bonus points to any readers who can tell me precisely which television show I referenced in the summary. * grins***

**If you've gotten this far, please do review. I write for you guys as well as myself, and your feedback will make it easier for you to enjoy the story more, not just for me to write it. Plus, reviews make my day. :)**


	2. A matter of survival

**Author's note: Here is, in a timely fashion, chapter two. With the significantly shorter chapters in this version, hopefully this sort of interval will be the typical one between updates.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! As always, you guys make my day. This chapter is dedicated to two of my reviewers—to HappyBunny6678, for correctly guessing the quote I used in this story's summary, and to Ichihime, for pointing out that Ravenclaw's mascot is not, like I wrote in last chapter, actually a raven, but rather an eagle. Sorry for the mistake. . Thanks also to everyone who added this story to their story alerts or favorites. **

**On with chapter two. :)**

When Severus Snape had returned to Hogwarts, he had not done it for the sake of returning to an old sanctuary, or out of any inclination to teach bothersome brats once again; he had done it for survival.

The ending of the war against Voldemort had been, in many ways, the start of a new era for the Wizarding World. From the bleakness of the Death Eater threat had come a mass looking forward to new opportunities, to half-forgotten freedoms, to a better life. So it was that in the wake of Voldemort, an almost naïve sort of idealism had grown—more importantly, the wizarding population of Britain had grown up around it, the excitable mob of the general populace rapidly forming an unstoppable force which would do anything to protect the bright new horizon they saw forming in their future.

Severus, too, had felt that relief even more acutely than most. The end of the Dark Lord meant an end to the spying, to the necessity of double dealing, to the hopeless end Severus had always expected. The final battle had not ended painlessly for Severus—as Potter had finally put his damnable stubbornness to use, returning even from death to deal the fatal blow to the Dark Lord, Severus had been bleeding on the floor of a dusty shack, nearly dead himself. Only a combination of foresightedness and Potter's irritating persistence had saved Snape, in the end; had he not been carrying a vial of anti-venom created to negate Nagini's poison, or had Potter not thought to gasp out a reminder of his injury before giving in to exhaustion, Severus could very well have bled out alone in the Shrieking Shack. As things had occurred, he had woken a week later in Hogwarts' hospital wing with only a scarred neck to mark his near demise, and had been free, at last, of the Dark Lord's service.

The first thing Severus had done, once Poppy had cleared him to move about, had been to make the walk to what had once been Albus Dumbledore's office. He had, originally, gone there solely to talk to Minerva McGonagall about taking a year's sabbatical. However, when he'd walked into the office and seen it changed back to what it once had been, Headmistress McGonagall having restored the nonsensical silver instruments to their tables and the proper books to the bookshelves, Severus had known that it was time to leave. He spent two hours in an office which looked very much like a memorial to the late Albus Dumbledore, explaining to Minerva over tea why his resignation was vital, and had left as a _former _employee of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. That was, as far as Severus was concerned, the end of his time at the school—he privately celebrated the fact that he would never be required to beat information into the mind of a recalcitrant teenager again, and would be forever free of Potter's bothersome presence. If he would miss Albus Dumbledore, and the security that Hogwarts had offered, well, Severus would never admit that this were the case, even to himself.

The summer that followed had been one of the best of Severus' life. He had settled in to the house on Spinner's End, if unpacking his bags there and proceeding to leave the house whenever possible could be called settling in. Between the sale of mass produced potions at a local apothecary and the invention of several new ones, Severus had had enough money to keep himself comfortably fed and clothed. That summer had been an exploration into life unfettered by secretiveness for Severus. Each day he read gleefully in the paper as Death Eaters failed to bribe or win their way out of jail, despite old connections and old blood, and each consecutive trial ended in one of Severus' old enemies finding their way to Azkaban prison in irons. Slowly, Severus had learned to sleep through small noises in the night, and had trained himself out of the habit of treating every raised wand as a potential threat. He would always feel uncomfortable without his wand close at hand, and would never sleep well on the rare occasions when he shared his bed with another, but, overall, Severus Snape came the closest to a normal life he had ever been able to.

Then Potter, in some fit of childish pique, had disappeared from the Wizarding World without warning, and everything had changed.

Severus had never been officially pardoned for the crimes he had committed during the war—actually, he'd never formally so much as gone to trial. It had never been necessary. Though he had never seen Potter after that humiliating exchange in what Severus had believed to be his last moments of life, he had always been aware of Potter's growing political strength. Hailed as the savior of the Wizarding World, the brat had, predictably, sucked up the approval of the public. Potter had become front page news, even more so than before—each and every one of Potter's actions had become newsworthy. After so long of hearing idle speculation about such insignificant details such as Potter's preference in food, and, to Severus' horror, undergarments, even the pathetic over-attention paid to Potter's split from the Weasley girl had been a welcome relief. More importantly, though, had been Potter's opinions, which had become near to law in the months after Voldemort's demise. Despite the fact that Severus, with his maudlin display of love for Lily Potter, had given Potter more reason to hate him than ever, Potter had been adamant in his defense of his former Potions Master. For one reason or another, Potter had been determined that the press know of Severus' heroism, of the vital part his spying had played to the war effort, and of his good intentions even in the death of Albus Dumbledore—Severus had found this rather comical at the time, given the fact that Potter himself had wanted to murder Severus personally only a few short months earlier. Still, the Savior of the Wizarding World had declared, loudly and frequently, that Severus Snape was innocent, and so it had become accepted truth. Severus, every bit the practical Slytherin, had been willing to swallow his own dislike for the boy—so long as Potter stayed well away from Severus and guaranteed Severus' survival, Severus was careful to censor his opinions of the boy in public. Without a trial, almost overnight, Severus had gone from villain to hero in the eyes of the Wizarding World, and, better, he could almost ignore that it was entirely due to Potter's influence.

When Potter had disappeared, he had taken that opinion with him. For a while, of course, all of the Wizarding World had been up in arms, demanding a world-wide search to return their Savior to them. Only a published letter from Potter, delivered to the Daily Prophet with Hermione Granger acting as the middleman, had been enough to reassure the public. In it, he had spoken of recovering from the final battle, of spending some time amongst friends and away from his adoring public in order to heal. The public had treated this with the cooing acceptance that was to be expected; Severus, who still spoke with a slight rasp from the aftereffects of the venom, was of the opinion that, save for Potter's brief foray into death, he had suffered less than most. Regardless, Potter had vanished into thin air with only a letter left behind and, unsurprisingly, the public soon began to forget about the opinions of their Savior. Out of sight, out of mind did not fail to apply; the longer Potter was absent, the less his views were remembered.

The brief peace had made Severus soft—entirely too much so. Until the night that a brick sailed through his front window, shattering the glass and his sleep at once, Severus had not even been aware that the public had begun to turn against him. That night he had stood, wand furiously clenched in a white-knuckled hand, brick painted to read "DEATH EATER" in green script levitating before him, and had cursed himself for failing to anticipate it. There would always be those who had suffered during his year as Headmaster at Hogwarts, or who had adored Albus Dumbledore to the point of idolization, or had lost a family member to the poisons his position as spy had forced him to brew for the Dark Lord. Perhaps, had Potter remained, those unhappy wizards might have remained forever silent, voices drowned out by the influence of the Wizarding World's Savior; without Potter acting as Severus' shield, Severus was just one man, who had never received an official pardon and still bore the incriminating ink of the Dark Mark on the skin of his left forearm. Severus sincerely doubted that his vigilante enemies would be skilled enough to assassinate him—he was talented enough to defeat the large majority of the wizarding population individually, and doubted they had the organization to attack him as a group—but what they could do was call for a trial. Without Potter there to play his advocate, Severus had no doubt of where that trial would end. He had stood for an hour, looking at the painted brick but contemplating other things, mind racing to secure his freedom as it had been forced to do all too many times in his thirty-eight years of life.

In the end, his only choice of sanctuary had been the one he knew oldest and best. Hogwarts, the shining center of education, recently much popularized by the battles won there and the obvious affection Potter held for the school, had offered Severus a chance to publicly do good. Hogwarts was not traditionally known for harboring political asylum, but it had been Severus' best chance.

Driven by his Slytherin instincts towards survival at all costs, Severus had packed his bags once again and sent a letter to Minerva McGonagall.

…

Though he would not admit it, his letter had amounted, in short, to this: _Your help is required, Headmistress. Please tell me you have an available post which will not force me to waste my talents on a class of empty minded teenagers?_

Though Minerva McGonagall would never admit it, she had always quietly fostered a sort of fond tolerance for Severus. Her response, in short, had read: _This is a school, Severus. You may teach either the teenagers you seem so fond of, or, if you wish, can help lead the Apprenticeship program I intend to reopen. Hogwarts is in need, fortunately, of a Potions Master willing to take on an Apprentice or two._

Though Severus did not hold memories of his own Apprenticeship in a particularly pleasant light, he was well aware that he was hardly in a position to demand another post. His reply had been, simply: _When would it be most convenient for me to arrive?_

…

The first year of the Apprenticeship program had seen five Masters flock to Hogwarts, Severus among them. All five were extremely overqualified for the first job they were put to; namely, airing out the Apprentice wings, getting to know their new colleagues, and responding to what few letters arrived.

"Don't look so glum," Kennis, the Spell-Shaping Master, had told Severus, a week into the process. The man, who had taken to Severus the first day and clung like a burr ever since, was unshakably cheerful. Had he not been a Master in his field, and a veritable genius on the matter he taught, Severus would have found him entirely insufferable. As it was, he merely found the man bothersome. Severus had dispelled the urge to tell the unpleasantly bright man that he was not in any sense of the word _glum_, and instead had raised an eyebrow as if to ask what on Earth the man thought he was talking about. Kennis had waved six letters of application before Severus' face. "I just got six applications in today. The program's off to a slow start, but it'll do alright."

Severus had thought of the two letters sitting on his new desk, the only two he had received since the announcement of the program. "Perhaps," he had agreed, reluctantly.

…

The second year had gotten off to a better start. The Apprenticeship program had gone beyond its trial period, and was settling well into the general landscape of Hogwarts' educational system. Five more Masters had joined the teaching staff of the program, diversifying the Apprenticeships available. Severus' highly publicized involvement with the program had kept him, thus far, from the proverbial noose. As opposed to the two Apprentices Severus had taken on the previous year, he had received no fewer than six worthy applications by the last week of July, leaving a few more days before the application process closed altogether. All in all, Severus' life had looked to be improving.

Then, on the second of August, the day before the enrollment had been set to close, Hermione Granger burst into a staff meeting, flushed, out of breath, and carrying a letter in her hand.

"I'm sorry, Headmistress," Granger gasped, managing to keep eye contact with McGonagall even while nearly doubling over. Severus watched her from his uncomfortable chair in the far corner and wondered what could have motivated the usually rule-abiding Granger to make such a disorderly entrance. He thought, too, of the letter of application which sat on his desk back in his room, wondering if he could disqualify Granger's application on a technicality like such disorderliness. He would have to reply to her shortly, and, with each passing day, it seemed alarmingly more likely that he would have to accept the application. "I've just run all the way from the owlery, and I don't mean to intrude." Kennis, who was Granger's appointed Master, grinned at her encouragingly when she met his eyes briefly. Severus made yet another mental note to remove himself from the man's chosen company, though he no longer suffered any delusions that such an effort would be successful. "But this letter is important."

Granger handed the letter to Minerva with the air of one delivering news of the utmost importance—Severus, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, knew then just what the letter's contents would divulge.

Indeed, Minerva looked up from the letter moments later, and announced, eyes bright, accent thickened by a sort of proud satisfaction, "Harry Potter will be joining the Apprenticeship program."

Crescenzo, the Master of Battle Magic, leaned forward interestedly. "Which Apprenticeship is he applying to?"

"Dual—," Granger and McGonagall began at the same time. Granger flushed and murmured an apology, allowing Minerva to complete the phrase with, "Dual Apprenticeships in Healing and Ritual Magic."

The Masters for those topics, Selwyn and Colby respectively, drew to attention at that; Selwyn sat up in his seat, hands gripping at the armrests, while Colby's eyes lost their disinterested glaze and sharpened their focus on the letter in McGonagall's hands. Crescenzo sighed in discontent. Surprisingly, though, the next question came from the Herbology Master, Theirn, who asked, "He will not be taking a Battle Magic Mastery?"

"No," Granger supplied, half-frowning, "which is a little unusual—I didn't know Harry had any interest in rituals or healing."

Healing. This time Severus heard the word and processed it fully, even as Selwyn and Colby were taking the included letters addressed to them. The Ritual Magic Apprenticeship alone would have been well enough, in that it never would have forced Severus into contact with the irredeemable idiot that Potter often became. However, a routine part of the Healing Apprenticeship was work on the Potions aspect of the recovery process. During this segment of the course, Selwyn and he had decided that they would essentially swap classes for a few short months, allowing Severus' Apprentices vital insight into the bodily processes their potions would be affecting, and allowing Selwyn's Apprentices to better understand the potions they would give their patients. If Harry Potter was to be accepted into the Apprenticeship program for Healing Magics, Severus would have no choice but to once again attempt to teach the boy potions for the better part of three months.

"So?" Crescenzo asked, gaze flicking from Selwyn and Colby. "Will he do? Or can I try and steal him from you?"

Colby, with a characteristic methodicalness, folded the letter which had been addressed to him back inside the envelope and placed the entire thing in a pocket within his robes. "Oh," Colby responded, a Welsh accent playing clearly across the words, "he'll do."

Severus did nothing quite so juvenile as hold his breath while Selwyn finished reading, though he was very nearly tempted to. Potter had been a menace to him for nearly seven years—surely that was enough. He had no need for a student as hopeless as Potter within his class, no matter his opinion towards the boy; his opinion of the boy, too, was something to consider, low as it was.

Luck had never been especially generous with Severus, nor had any sort of fate looked on him kindly. This being the case, Severus was not exactly surprised when Selwyn, too, folded the letter and nodded in acquiescence. "He'll do," Selwyn echoed, in his low, soft manner.

It would be, Severus reflected, an interesting few years.

**I realized the timeline of this might have confused readers, when one of the reviews I received mentioned this story starting earlier than Dicentra formosa. Let me just clear this up for you guys really quick—Harry disappears at the end of the summer, when he's just turned eighteen. Severus is left alone for the better part of a year, and the brick incident occurs the following summer. By the time the Apprenticeship program starts, and Severus starts teaching again, Harry has been missing for a year and is then nineteen. The main part of this story occurs one year after that, in the second year of the Apprenticeship program. At that point, Harry is twenty years old, and has been missing for two years. I hope this makes everything clear—if you weren't confused in the first place, sorry for rambling.**

**Anyway, please drop a review if you've the time. Feedback helps me write better, knowing your opinions allows me to make sure everybody enjoys, and getting reviews makes my day. :) I respond to each of my reviewers via PM—one reviewer from last chapter, Kamiyoukai, has that feature disallowed, so just know that I read the review, appreciated it, and thank you for giving it. :) Your reviews do matter a lot to me, lovely readers.**

**The next chapter will be dedicated to any reviewer who can correctly guess which canon Harry Potter characters from Harry's year in school will also be entering the Apprenticeship program. Double credits to anyone who can also place those characters in their correct Apprenticeships. :D**


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